


Crawled Into the Speakers

by TheSingerThatYouWanted (orphan_account)



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, jones really needs his music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheSingerThatYouWanted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jones has left his headphones at home and isn't exactly coping well; Dan is a grumbly git who is struggling with emotions; I am out of practice at writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawled Into the Speakers

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any fic in so long, it's so good to have time to write again even if it isn't my best. Basically I've had this idea in my head all day and figured that if I don't write it now then I probably never will, and at least it's something. Hopefully there's something to enjoy here anyway.  
> And yes, they're in Edinburgh purely because I wanted them here.

It took Dan three attempts to open the door, leaning heavily against the slightly warped wood and fumbling with the keys he’d been given earlier that day, pressed into his hand by Claire along with a warning that if they damaged the flat at all she would kill them on her friend’s behalf. Jones shifted restlessly at his heels, looking around at everything like he was afraid he’d miss some vital detail. Every so often his head would tilt to one side and he’d frown, trying to figure out how the sounds of the city fitted together. After a minute or so he sighed and leaned in against Dan’s back, peering across his shoulder.  
“You need a hand?”  
“I need keys that fit the stupid- there,” grumbled Dan, stumbling as the door finally swung open to reveal a dark corridor. Jones grinned, kissing his cheek as he squirmed past and into the hall.  
“Oh, so I’ll take the bags, shall I?” Dan asked, gesturing to the rucksack Jones had dropped at the doorstep.  
“You drag me up half the country, the least you can do is move my stuff two feet indoors,” replied Jones, his voice echoing from somewhere inside the flat. Lights began to flicker on as Jones dashed around, flicking switches at random as he passed them. Dan shook his head and picked up the bags with a sigh, entering the house and looking around.  
“That’s not how it works. At least sending me to Edinburgh for the weekend as research is one of the less shitty things Yeah?’s decided to make me do. Anyway, you wanted to come.”  
“Yeah,” said Jones, reappearing around a corner and taking the bag with a smile and a tilt of his head. “Yet here you are carrying my stuff.”  
“I hate you,” muttered Dan as Jones vanished into what looked to be the bedroom.  
“I knew you were only in this for my body,” laughed the DJ. “Nah, ‘s alright, I don’t blame you. You coming in? Or do you plan to just stand there in the hall all night? I wouldn’t mind, only I need to know how much of this bed is mine.”  
Dan shook his head and followed the younger man’s lead, pushing through the door and looking around the small room. It wasn’t much to look at- there was a double bed pushed against one wall, a wardrobe leaning unsteadily against another, and a painting hanging in the corner that made Dan’s head hurt just looking at it- but it seemed clean, and more importantly it meant he could finally sleep. He yawned and stretched, the bones of his back clicking and popping as they settled back into place. Six hours on three different trains was practically torture, and it was only Jones’ relentless enthusiasm that had stopped him from doing something drastic. Even then, there had been a woman on the tube to Kings Cross who had sniffed when she saw them and started talking loudly about how much she disapproved of same-sex couples. Dan had been the one holding Jones back at that point.  
Shaking his head to clear it, Dan looked up at Jones, watching as he rummaged through his bag. A familiar weight settled in his stomach, the one he felt every time he started to think about what he had with Jones. He still didn’t know what to call it. Drunken fumbles and messy blowjobs on worn sofas didn’t exactly feel like a sensible way to start a relationship, but somehow over the past year or so it had happened. Dan still hated his job, still got cries of “Preachermaaaaaaan!” as he walked down the street, and Jones’ music continued to deafen and confuse everyone who heard it, but their dynamic had shifted and it seemed like that was all it took to make things work. Nobody but the two of them knew about it, not yet at any rate. Dan was too high-profile among the wrong type of crowd for it to be safe for him to come out.  
He sighed, and Jones turned around.  
“You alright?”  
Dan shook his head and looked at the floor.  
“Yeah. I, uh, I’m just tired. Coffee?”  
Jones’ face lit up, and Dan’s stomach swirled again.  
“Aw, yeah. Cheers.”  
A tight smile on his lips, Dan nodded towards the younger man’s bag.  
“What are you looking for?”  
“Hm? Oh. Headphones. They’re probably right at the bottom, always are,” he replied with a smile. “I’ll get them in a minute.”  
As he walked across the room Dan felt Jones’ hand brush lightly against his arm. The light touch seemed oddly deliberate, fingers against skin to a count of four, but he recognised it as just the way Jones was when there were sounds in his head that he wanted to get out. He’d calm down once he found his headphones.  
The kitchen in the flat was small, but there was a jar of instant coffee on the table and that was all Dan cared about. As the ancient kettle bubbled and groaned ominously Dan shook a cigarette from the packet in his pocket and lit it, savouring the curl of nicotine in his lungs. The city outside the window seemed unable to decide if it was going to bed or waking up, the sounds of traffic giving way to raised voices calling friend or foe outside of the pub. Jones would probably have laid some music over it, found a way to make bagpipes sound even more cacophonous, turned it into something amazing. Dan just listened.  
He heard Jones mutter something from the other room and looked up, unsure if the younger man had been trying to get his attention. A moment or so later there was a loud thud, and this time Jones’ voice was clear as he yelled.  
“No!”  
“Shit,” muttered Dan, stubbing out his cigarette against the small plastic ‘no smoking’ sign screwed to one wall as he hurried through. “Jones?”  
No answer. Dan pushed through into the bedroom to see Jones sitting hunched on the edge of the bed, shaking. His rucksack was crumpled on the other side of the room, its contents strewn across the floor. Dan cast a quick glance across it. T-shirts, underwear… no headphones.  
Dan sucked in a breath. Shit.  
“Jones?” he said again, moving forward cautiously. The DJ was tapping restlessly against the wooden bedframe, bouncing his knee the way he always did when he was anxious. He started at the sound of Dan’s voice, looking up at him with an expression close to fear. Nonetheless, he tried to smile.  
“Hey, D- Dan,” he said carefully, with a confidence that Dan knew was forced.  
“No headphones?” asked Dan bluntly. A small part of his mind wondered if he should have tried to broach the subject more gently, but he was tired and more worried than he cared to admit. This was no time for his clumsy attempts at subtlety. Jones seemed to shrink in on himself, shaking his head.  
“No.”  
Slowly, Dan nodded.  
“You okay?”  
Stupid question. Jones blinked, flinching at what Dan guessed to be his own thoughts, before slowly shaking his head again.  
“I- I need- sounds, there are too many sounds in my head, and they need to- to- I'm going to explode, I can feel them- please-”  
The words, so hesitant at first, were tumbling from him now, out of control. Dan could hear his breath quickening and carefully moved closer again until he was standing by the bed. Jones looked so small, practically cowering as his muscles tightened and he began to shake. For a second Dan was seized with the fear that he was making things worse by standing there, looming over the smaller man, but a split second later Jones had leapt up and wrapped his arms tightly around Dan’s chest. Pressing his face in against the taller man’s shoulder, Jones mumbled a steady stream of words against the worn fabric of his shirt.  
“I’m sorry, I know y- you don’t like- please, there are too many and I don’t know where they are- what if someone stole them?”  
He was shaking, and as Dan slipped his arms cautiously around his waist he felt a damp patch spread across his shoulder. Jones was crying. Jones _never_ cried.  
“Hey,” he began awkwardly, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey, Jones, breathe.”  
Jones took a shuddering gasp of air, heart beating hard enough that Dan could feel it, and he rubbed his hand slowly across the younger man’s back. He could feel the outline of Jones’ ribs against his palm.  
“With me. Come on, you can do this.”  
He pressed his face against Jones’ hair, doing his best to keep his breathing slow and even. Vague memories were coming back to him of his mum taking care of him, way back when he was young enough that his natural stubbornness and awkwardness was seen as endearing rather than annoying.  
“They’ll probably be at home,” he said reassuringly. “You weren’t using them on the train. They’ll just be sitting on the table when we get back.”  
As Jones’ sobs slowed and lessened into soft hiccups, Dan found himself moving on autopilot. He reached up and lightly brushed Jones’ hair back from his face, pressing a kiss to his temple. Jones let out a strange sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob.  
“Thanks,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and barely audible, and Dan felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness. The small body in his arms felt delicate, fragile, soft, and he was painfully aware of how tall and clumsy he was in comparison.  
“It’s alright. I’m here.”  
Jones whimpered, pressing closer to his chest.  
“Too many sounds,” he said. Dan hesitated for the briefest second, then tucked his face in against the smaller man’s shoulder and began to hum softly. Jones stiffened, shifting slightly to listen. After a moment he laughed.  
“Is that Bowie?” he asked. Dan shrugged.  
“All I could think of off the top of my head.”  
Jones pressed in against him with the ghost of a smile on his lips, tracing shapes lightly against Dan’s back. After a minute Dan realised that he was writing the lyrics with the tip of his finger.  
They stayed there. Dan wasn’t sure how long he stood with Jones in his arms, singing what snatches of lyrics he could remember and pressing light kisses to the top of his head as the younger man slowly began to relax against him. He was struck suddenly by how nervous he was. He’d seen Jones naked, seen him when he was sleeping, seen him doubled over the toilet retching his guts out after one drink too many, but somehow this felt more intimate than any of it. After all, Jones’ music was all he had, ever since Dan had first met him. Without his precious headphones with him, he lost the one thing that kept him steady. The fact that he’d chosen Dan as a substitute was overwhelming.  
Somewhere at the back of his mind floated the thought that if Claire ever found out he was afraid of their flatmate he would never live it down. He wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse than if she found out that they’d been fucking on the sofa for the past eleven months.  
Eventually Jones yawned, stretching up to press a kiss to the underside of Dan’s chin. The movement made Dan stir from his thoughts and he stepped back, suddenly reluctant to move away from Jones. The younger man had eyeliner smeared untidily across his face and looked practically dead on his feet from exhaustion, and Dan quickly made up his mind.  
“Bed,” he said simply. Jones bit his lip, blue eyes darting around nervously.  
“I don’t think I can,” he said, forcing a smile, and Dan shook his head hurriedly.  
“No, I mean- sleep. You look exhausted, Jones. Get some rest for once.”  
There was a moment while Jones processed what he was hearing. The only time they usually slept together was when they were both too tired to get up again. After a few seconds, though, he smiled.  
“Alright.”  
He sat down heavily on the bed and slipped off his shoes, burrowing beneath the covers and looking a little nervously up at Dan. Carefully Dan followed his example, lying down beside him. Jones latched on to him immediately, curling into his side like he was trying to get as much physical contact as possible before Dan inevitably changed his mind. Guilt twisted in his stomach at the thought; he’d never mean to push Jones away. He draped one arm across the smaller man’s shoulders, letting him snuggle closer, feeling an odd tug in his chest as he looked down at Jones’ long eyelashes and slightly parted lips.  
“I love you,” he blurted out. Jones froze, blinking up at him.  
“What?”  
“I- nothing.”  
Jones turned and propped himself up on his elbows, frowning down at him. Dan stared back, momentarily losing his train of thought in the blue of Jones’ eyes. Then Jones bent his head and kissed him, and Dan stopped thinking altogether.  
They’d kissed before. They’d kissed hundreds of times before, sloppy and desperate, chaste and reassuring. This kiss was no different… except it was, because their previous kisses had never tasted of tears; never been so slow and languid, with hands resting on hips and moving lazily to tangle in hair, the promise of safety and nothing else. Dan whined softly against Jones’ lips as they broke apart, looking at him in awe. The DJ smiled.  
“You idiot,” he said quietly, lying down again and nuzzling in against Dan’s neck. “I love you too, but you knew that, right?”  
“Uh… no?”  
Jones shook his head, sighing. His breath warmed Dan’s chest, ghosting across his skin.  
“The trouble with you, Ashcroft, is that you never think you deserve anything. What you need to-”  
He broke off, yawning, then continued sleepily.  
“-need to understand, is you don’t always have to earn everything. Sometimes the young, beautiful, talented DJ falls for the grumpy git he’s sharing a flat with. That’s just the way it is. Alright?”  
Dan rolled his eyes and tugged the duvet over them properly.  
“Sleep now,” he muttered. “Lectures in the morning.”  
His eyes flickered shut, but he heard Jones laugh.  
“Alright. Lectures in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I don't own Nathan Barley, or Dan, or Jones, or Edinburgh, or the song Turn It Up by Robots in Disguise, which I borrowed the title from. Comments are the best thing since the invention (possibly discovery?) of chocolate cake. Love you a bit x


End file.
